Page 123 of Life of the Party

“Okay, Mac. Calm down.”

I took a breath, shutting my eyes, trying not to panic. “What am I going to do?”

“How much do you need?”

“I don’t know. Enough for the week. And for rent and stuff, next week.”

“You mean, you don’t have anything?”

“No,” I muttered sheepishly. “I spent it all last weekend.”

“What about Grey?”

“Nothing. Not until they start doing gigs again.” I shrugged.

“Okay…what about your parents?”

I cringed, instantly rejecting the thought. I could picture their faces when I asked them for money; how my dad would gloat:I knew you couldn’t do it on your own.

I shook my head again, resolved. “I can’t ask them.”

“Oh, okay, so you almost went down on that guy for money, but you can’t ask your parents for some?”

I glared at her. “I did not almost—”

“Whatever. Mackenzie, don’t be an idiot. Ask your parents.”

I sighed. Loud and long. I did need money. I became more desperate for it as the agitated minutes passed by. “Fine.” I relented angrily, irritated. “Fine, I’ll ask them. Will you drive me there?”

“Of course.” Charlie threw the car in reverse and backed out of the stall. “I’m sure they’ll understand.”

My answer was a grumble.

When Charlie pulled up at my parents’ house it was empty, vacant—I could already tell. It had a hollow, dark feel to it…something I was all too familiar with. Something I’d come home to regularly. No one inside. No one expected anytime soon.

“They’re not even home.” I sighed.

“Well, you can call them later,” Charlie suggested. “I’ll drive you again.”

“Thanks, Charlie.”

Just as she was about to pull away, I stopped her.

“Wait.” My parents still had my things from Marcy’s wedding. This was the perfect time to get them, with no one around. “I’ll be right back.”

I ran up the drive, pounded my code into the keypad and opened the door. I hadn’t been home in months, but I didn’t waste any time looking around. The bag full of my stuff was in the front entry, right where Mom said it would be.

As I slung the bag over my shoulder, something else caught my eye.

It was my mom’s purse, hanging over the Deacon’s bench perched against the wall. The flap had come open, the contents inside bulging out.

I didn’t even think twice. There wasn’t even a whisper from my conscience that what I was doing was bad. Unthinkable, until now. I opened up her purse and took what I knew would be inside. A neat green roll of twenties, a few red fifties tucked in.

Why my mom always insisted on carrying so much cash was beyond me, but at the moment, I was thankful for her odd little habit. I stuffed the money into my pocket—there must have been at least three-hundred dollars there—and felt instantly better.

I ran back to the car after locking up the house, a broad smile of relief on my face. Charlie noticed the change in my attitude immediately.

“Find what you were looking for?” She wondered curiously.

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